Let Slip the Dogs of War
by rallamajoop
Summary: Kink-meme request fic spinning out of the canonical alternate universe seen in Cable & Deadpool #15-16. Or, War wasn't telling the whole truth about what happened to the Deadpool of his universe. [Cable/Deadpool, guest-starring the New Avengers]
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Written for a prompt on the _Cable&Deadpool_ kink meme, asking for a continuation of a certain ficlet by **sarkywoman** - which was in turn inspired by the canonical alternate universe where Apocalypse won (and one of his horsemen turned out to be that universe's version of Cable) from C&D 15-16.

* * *

If Deadpool squinted up at just the right spot on the rocky cave roof, there was a little niche of shadows that looked like a fluffy bunny. Well, like a bunny that was maybe missing a leg or two. And an ear. And half its face, and had something like a tentacle protruding from somewhere unmentionable. Probably more like a bunny after meeting Elmer Fudd with a double-barrelled shotgun in the middle of rabbit season, really.

Goddamn, wasn't there _always_ supposed to be a bunny up in the clouds when someone did this? Who did this cave think it was anyway? He was the goddamn _Deadpool_, he'd seen fluffy bunnies in broad daylight when there wasn't a cloud, fairy floss machine or Loony Toons fourth-wall-breakout for _miles_, what was the ceiling's excuse?

Deadpool was, put simply, bored out of his brain, and this was coming from a brain that tended to turn him away at the door for B.O. and dirty feet even on casual dress nights.

The one mercy of being chained up down in a cave with décor fresh out of _Modern S+M Monthly (Extra Affordable Monochrome Edition)_ was that at least his captor's sadism hadn't extended to gagging him - because fond as Deadpool was of his little yellow boxes, some days they just weren't the same. He'd spent the last week working his way through his entire repertoire of show tunes and 90's pop hits (his complete collection 80's pop hits and favourite TV jingles having run out the week before). Say what you like about the cave, it had _great_ acoustics – on a good day he could do whole duets with his own echo. Only trouble was that the snobby reverberation never would agree to sing the backup parts, and whenever Deadpool got to the bits that inevitably went "Nananana something potato meow meow nanana something," there was always something creeping into its tone that seemed to be mocking him.

Stupid echo. See if it ever competed with his boxes for favourite backup device.

Worse yet, the damn cave kept dripping on him. Not often, and not with any kind of regularity detectable with a wandering mind and not a single clock in sight, but it seemed like every time he was right up to the upper-key-bonus-chorus of his latest performance, some horrible stalagmite (tite? Bite? Fite? He didn't know and wouldn't have cared if there'd been anything else around to distract him, which there wasn't) up there in the bunnyless-shadows-of-the-roof would critique his performance by loosing a drop of water right into his face. Oh, he'd tried warning it; he'd made it perfectly clear to that no-good cave-ornament that if it did that one more time – _one more time_ – he'd be up there in a flash and _see if he didn't_ turn the last thousand years of calciferous limestone formation into extra-whitening toothpaste, but just when he thought he'd got that ceiling good and intimidated, what happened? _Drip_, right in the nose. The whole being chained down thing must have been really taking the edge of his threats.

What really worried him – apart from the ongoing torture of being constantly dripped on when the guy upstairs only let him up for bathroom breaks on alternating Tuesdays – was the burning question of just how long he had left before all that dripping mineral water built up and turned him into an attractive cave formation of his own. A hundred years, maybe? A thousand? Why, in geo-marvel time, that was practically the blink of an eye! On the other hand, getting turned into a human stalagmite had to be good for at least _one_ new superpower, right? It was going to be that or sit around and wait for a radioactive cave newt to wander by.

It was a thought he made the most of, because the only other way to pass the time down here was counting the skulls, and once you knew the cave you were sitting in contained three-hundred-and-forty-_oh-fuck-it-close-enough_ skulls, that got pretty old too. There was the whole Swiss assortment of other bones down here too, but Deadpool could never think of the names of any of the interesting bendy ones. How did that song go again, the rib bone's connected to the... next rib bone? The fibula, maybe? Something ending in 'ibula'... hibula? Ribula? And where was the T-bone supposed to fit in? Being able to classify every bone in the body by the sound it made when you broke it was a nice party trick, but it didn't help him recognise them on the outside, and singing, "The crunch-_ohfuckfuckfuck_-bone's connected to the snikt-crackle-_my-arm-my-arm_-bone" just wasn't ever the same.

Hold on a second, he was missing the obvious solution! He _had_ a skeleton, all connected up right and everything! He should just get all his bones tattooed with their names, and whenever he forgot again he could just open himself up and check his tags! Genius!

Oh wait, that was him forgetting about that little being-tied-down problem again. He couldn't open anything up right now. Rats. It'd been such a good plan too.

Man, it was a real good thing he was already out of his skull, or being stuck down here could drive a guy _insane_.

You really knew you had problems when your evil-megalomaniac-captor stopping by to molest you for a bit was the unequivocal highlight of your week. If the whole chained-up-in-a-cave part wasn't already enough of a clue.

...Speak of the devil. He'd know the sound of those steel toed-soled-and-heeled boots anywhere. 'Course, Evil-Nate was the only one who ever came down here, so if he'd heard someone tap-dancing their way down with a full backing accompaniment of _Happy Feet_, it'd still be safe to assume it was him, only on way too much caffeine and sugar. That or revolutionaries with seriously weird taste in victory music. Or a hallucination, but even those mostly left him alone these days – bunny-shaped or otherwise.

Heh, tap-dancing Evil-Nate. That was a good one, he should really remember it.

"Heyyyy, War old buddy! How's conquering? Big Boss still got you and the rest of the Infamous Four still working all those crazy hours? I'm telling you Nate, you should get the union on him – even henchmen get an hour off a day to spend with their families and prisoners."

The footsteps stopped, just beyond the halo of light created by the forest of drippy candles, leaving War still largely shrouded by shadows. (_Poser._) "How touching. I might almost think you'd missed me."

"Oh, nah, I've been great, seriously! Never better! Me and your ceiling, we could just staaaare into each other's stalagmites forever. Just today I found _another_ place up there you could fit a widescreen TV!"

"Hm. Now there's a thought."

"Oh don't be like... what, _really?_"

"What you may have forgotten is that there isn't a single television network still functioning on the entire continent."

"...oh you evil _bastard_."

"You flatter me." More footsteps, and if Deadpool was getting maybe just a _little_ breathy about Evil-Nate moving into arm's reach, it was just frustration. Wait, anger. Rage! That was the one. And totally not in a sexy way.

"I am _so not kidding_." A hand landed on Deadpool's ankle and started dragging its way upwards, but if War thought that was all it would take to make it up to him he had another thing coming. "The drippy cave and all the skulls and spikes and the whole Marquis de Fucking _Miserable_ theme you've got going down here – baby, that's Discount Dungeon evil, but tormenting a guy in the throws of _Golden Girls_ withdrawal, that's just... ohgodplease, it doesn't have to be a widescreen. You can put a skull motif on it and everything, it won't even clash with the décor! I know you have all the Terminator movies on DVD, I'll even take the security feed from the back alley behind the air-conditioning ducts! I'll take reruns of _Pushing Daisies!_"

"You," said War with considerable pleasure, "are losing it."

"Am not. Know exactly where it is. Only put it down just a second ago. Left it in my other pants." There was a drawn out ripping sound. "Ooookaaay, in my _only_ pants. Wait, wasn't I wearing my other pants already? Hey, if you want this sexy body in skirts you'd better let me up to shave my legs first, there's like, a Geneva convention about it and everything."

"You're trying to divert me. It isn't going to work."

"Shit, hey! Cold fingers, cold fingers!" Squirming like a startled weasel wasn't going to help Deadpool very much, but he couldn't do much to help _it_ either. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that TO mesh is _mean_ at cold temperatures? Where've you been, conquering Iceland?"

"Norway, if you must know."

"Huh. Did you get me anything nice?"

War's grin expanded slowly into something containing enough teeth to be near-Liefeldian. "The rebel leader's head on a platter?"

"Awww, you – nnngh – shouldn't have. Anyone I know?"

"Doubtful."

"Okay, but sweet as that was of you, seriously – _you shouldn't have_, I'm up to my _skull_ in skulls down here. Perhaps a nice ribula or two next time, and if you could maybe just get it labelled for me... oh..." The sentence broke off into something less coherent and rather more drawn out.

"Look, honey, hate to bring this up," keeping his voice at the same octave was getting further beyond Deadpool by the minute, "but I think our relationship's kinda – _nnnn_ – stuck in a rut."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, '_oh_'. It's all BDSM-this, casual-non-con-that, page-53-of-the-karma-sutra-for-kinky-fifth-dimensional-Stockholm-victims-the-other. There's just no _surprise_ anymore, it's all spice and no vanilla and that's... that's, uh, really bad for your digestion... ohnnnrgh... are you even listening?"

"You're saying you think it's time we tried something... different?"

Later, Deadpool would realise he should have been paying a lot more attention to War's tone at this point.

"Yes! Yes that's it exactly, there's this _wild_ thing I read about once called 'missionary position' where..."

"Hm. Perhaps you have a point." With that, War leaned back, and then stepped away from Deadpool altogether.

"Wait, what? What are you doing!?"

"Trying something _different_," said War, pointedly re-fastening a few crucial pieces of armour.

Deadpool stared in not-at-all-mute disbelief. "Oh come on, orgasm denial is _so_ not even original anymore! You can't leave me like this!"

"What you haven't yet grasped is that I can do _exactly_. What I please."

"Like my oversexed evil overlord could go a day without putting a hand on me? You'll come crawling back! This punishes you just as much as me... huh, okay, in point of fact you _do_ have two hands and neither of them tied to anything... hey... Hey! Don't you walk away from me! You don't have any idea what kind of rude gestures I might be pulling behind your back! Joke's over, not funny anymore!"

The sound of footsteps retreating up the stairs was the only sound in the cave for a good fifteen seconds.

"Okay fine, I give in! What do I have to do, beg? Who do you want me to kill before you let me up from here! Orphans? Puppies? Martha Stewart? I'll do Martha Stewart's orphaned puppy if that's what it takes, and by god I'll probably even _enjoy_ it! I'll wear the outfit with the spikes you like and everything! War? I know you're listening right where I can't see you just to psych me out!"

The only noise was that of a very large, heavy door closing in its usually ponderous manner.

"WAR!"


	2. Chapter 2

Imagine, if you will, a cave – or better yet, a dungeon, built complete with all standard dungeonly fittings, though excavation costs have been saved by using the cave that was conveniently there to begin with. It's the same one from the previous scene, so you're probably imagining it already. It is not completely dark, but all but two of the candles have burned down, leaving the halo of light around the cave's one permanent occupant constricted down to focus unhelpfully on his lower legs. (This is enough to reveal said legs are wearing pants at the moment, which may come as a relief to some readers.)

Now imagine the sound made by a small group of people being teleported in all at once. (Contrary to popular belief, 'BAMF' is not the most appropriate onomatopoeia, but it will probably suffice.)

The next sound is inevitably going to be that of several people trying to establish where on earth they are, only very quietly in case it's somewhere unfriendly, while their eyes gradually adjust to the gloom.

When Deadpool wakes up from a light snooze to discover that all the above has not been a particularly vivid dream it won't make any particular noise, but it's about to happen nonetheless.

* * *

It was several seconds of frantic, barely-whispered argument later that a voice from somewhere in the gloom said, "Nate? 'Zat you?" Despite being rough with sleep, there was an undeniable gravely-Demi-Moore quality to it.

All talking abruptly ceased. After a minute, a different voice (hoarse with surprise, but nonetheless recognisable) ventured, "...Wade?"

"Uh, last I checked. Didn't hear you come in, did you float all the way down the steps just to surprise me or something? Coz I can still act surprised if it means a lot to you." There was a clanking sound, made by chains shifting as their captive craned to get a better look at something. "Is it just me or is there something different about you today? Wait, don't tell me: all your good armour's in the wash and you were stuck with that old spandex thing at the back of the closet. Yeah, that happens to me all the time too. Well, used to happen."

No-one replied immediately, though there were a few exasperated mutters, the sound of someone's palm connecting sharply with its owner's face, and heavy footsteps as the owner of the second voice – who did indeed fit the description of Nathan Dayspring Askani'son Et Cetera Summers to a T – walked forward several steps into the light.

"I think you have me confused with someone else," he said, with a trace of embarrassment.

"Oh sure, with the _other_ Priscilla? Waitasec, do we have _guests?_ You never let me have guests. Are those the _Avengers?_ Didn't you _fricassee_ the Avengers? ..._Oh my god_, don't tell me: you're alternate universe-Nate with a rescue party from another world come to save me! Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou I take back every bad thing I ever said about epic crossover events! By the love of sweet Bea Arthur, someone up there _is_ returning my calls! Whohooo!"

The silence this time was of a more embarrassed nature.

"Should I be disturbed how close to right he got that?" said the voice belonging to Luke Cage.

"If I've been following this correctly, then I'm more disturbed that we appear to have landed right in a prison cell belonging to the _very tyrant we came to ambush!_" The distortion of Iron Man's helmet did little to take the edge off his tone.

"Was the signal intercepted?" said Captain America. "If he found out we were coming, could he have diverted our landing point?"

"While we're on the bad news kick," said Spider-Man, "wasn't our team, like, twice as spidey when we left home?"

Everyone looked around at once, with a net effect that would have been comical in better light.

"Jessica? If you can hear me, say something!"

"Not like her to wander off in the dark."

"'Bodyslide by six'," Cable muttered. "I never thought to allow for this."

"Cable, if you have an explanation we should be hearing..." Cap prompted.

"I'm afraid this is probably my fault," said Cable, apologetically. "In our world, Deadpool and I went through a... a kind of accidental genetic exchange which had the side effect of confusing the signatures my teleportation matrix used to identify us."

"... nudge-nudge, wink-wink, _if-you-know-what-I-mean_."

"The same must have transpired in this universe. I had Forge fine-tune the process to exclude the alternate version of myself when he sent us here, but... I was under the impression we wouldn't be finding Deadpool alive."

"Hah, oh if I had a buck for every time I've heard _that_ one... would've hired a stunt double to do all my being tied up for me for a start..."

A faint smile crossed Cable's face, but he turned away before the others saw it.

"So instead of transporting the six of us to a safe landing point..." said Cap, catching on.

"...it picked up me, Deadpool and the four people closest to me when I gave the command," Cable finished.

"Which still doesn't explain why it brought us to him, instead of bringing him with us," Iron Man pointed out.

"Ooh, me, me, I know this one!"

"Wade?"

"Yeah, my fault, got my teleportation-proof vest on. You may fire at will!"

Everyone stared at him.

"Okay, fine, my teleportation proof _hand-cuffs_. Happy?"

"You mean your restraints," said Cable.

"Evil-you _really_ didn't want anyone 'porting me out of here," said Deadpool. "Had one of his little overlord-moments and gave me the whole infomercial on them when he locked me up down here. They're also tamper-proof and water-proof and radioactive-cave-newt-proof and even dislocating-your-thumbs-to-escape proof. He let me find _that_ one out the hard way though, the bastard. Stiffed me my free set of steak knives too."

"Meaning that when the teleport couldn't take Deadpool with us, it compromised by bringing us – _minus_ Spider-Woman – to him," said Iron Man, resting his forehead on a hand. "Cable, when this is over you and I are going to have a long talk about the proper programming of _failsafes_."

"Hey, since we're talking about these stylish cuffs of mine," Deadpool piped up, "it is _seriously_ bad for your hero cred that you've all been down here ten minutes and no-one's let me out of them yet."

This silence was the uncomfortable kind where even the non-telepathic could hear everyone thinking.

"Before anyone voices anything they may want to distance themselves from later," said Cable, "I'll remind you all we can't Bodyslide out of here without him."

"We're aware," said Cap. "Tony?"

"On it," said Iron Man, stepping forward.

"So," said Spider-Man while everyone watched him work, "is anyone else seriously weirded out that Evil Cable has a whole cave down here just to keep Deadpool locked up in?"

"No gags about not being evil enough to lock someone else up with him for company?" said Luke.

"You have _no idea_ how hard I'm restraining myself."

"Deadpool, is there anyone else down here?" said Captain America, tactfully ignoring the rest of the conversation going on behind him.

"Just me and the stalagmites. Hey Metal Man? If your plan for getting those off me involves staring at them and wishing really hard, I tried that one already this morning. Clapping your hands or clicking your heels are still open for you to try if you want though."

Iron Man started crossly out of a haze of concentration. "I'm... oh, nevermind."

"Can you get him free?" asked Cap.

"Yes. But I'm going to have to do it without tripping at least three different alarms in the mechanism."

"How long?"

"You know the saying about getting your food cheap, fast or good?"

Cap frowned. "How long do we have?"

"Depends how long War is likely to take to notice us down here," said Cable, looking at Deadpool.

"Search me, not like he bothers to call before dropping by. Plus I'm pretty sure he's got a 24 hour live Deadpool feed going down here."

"Then we may not have very long," Cable concluded, grimly. "What are our options?"

"The clean way would be to hack the system and disable the alarms from the top," said Iron Man, "but the technology here is years ahead of our century," (the helmet may have directed a slight glare at Cable here). "I could force the locks one at a time, but the alarm will trip long before I'm done. Physical contact on the mechanism from anyone without Deadpool's DNA signature will do the same. The last alarm is connected to pressure sensors on the inside of the cuffs, so short of leaving his hands and feet _behind_ when we leave there's no way to avoid… ah. I actually didn't mean to suggest that."

It was a moment later that Spider-Man said, "That's it, we are _way_ over our uncomfortable silence quota for this month."

"Wade," said Cable slowly, "is your healing factor still working?"

"Oh, sure. It's been working out like you've never seen it work before – regular schedule, three times a week."

"Am I going crazy," asked Spider-Man, voice just a little higher and faster than normal, "or did we seriously suggest what I think we just suggested?"

"It's up to you Wade," said Cable, looking grim. "The slow method puts us at risk, but it's still an option."

"Lemme see. Excruciating pain now plus FREEDOM FOR ALL, or I stay here and delay the excruciating pain until Evil-Nate next comes home in a bad mood." Deadpool craned his head forward to look straight down at his toes. "Sorry extremities, it's been real, but at this point in my career you are just _holding me back_."

"Fast and cheap it is," Iron Man muttered. "The pencil laser will cauterise the wound as I cut, but there isn't anything I can offer for the pain. Are you ready?"

"No, but you probably better start before I _am_ and the panic attack sets in. If I start screaming like a little girl for you to stop, don't worry too much - I'm pretty used to getting ignored lately when I do that. I'd ask if one of you guys would hold my hand while he does this, but that's gonna be a bit of a joke in a minute so... ayup, that would be panic setting in right about there, oohboy..."

The high-pitched whine of the laser starting up drowned out the sound of most of the cave's occupants taking deep breaths all at once.

A large drop of water fell on Deadpool's face, but for once he didn't even notice it.

* * *

An alarm did go off eventually when the temperature inside the cuffs started dropping sharply towards the ambient, but by the time War came roaring down the stairs with fury befitting his name, the Avengers were all long gone.


End file.
